


Ordinary World

by AFey



Series: Challenge #1 Mirandy Year of Fun & Frolics Writer’s Bingo [4]
Category: The Devil Wears Prada (2006)
Genre: Angst, Bingo Entry Challenge #1, F/F, Hopeful Ending, Mirandy Year of Fun & Frolics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-28
Updated: 2018-04-28
Packaged: 2019-04-26 12:31:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14402199
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AFey/pseuds/AFey
Summary: When the world went mad, Miranda was with the twins.  Their blissful day disrupted by a call from Nigel. The War had begun and nothing would ever be the same.





	Ordinary World

**Author's Note:**

> For the prompt - “soldier”.
> 
> Title from the song by Duran Duran. 
> 
> (Grouped together in a series so I can keep track of which fic is part of what challenge)

When the world went mad, Miranda was with the twins.  Their blissful day disrupted by a call from Nigel. The War had begun and nothing would ever be the same.

Days passed and the news cycle leapt into overdrive as journalists scurried to cover every breaking story. The networks competed to present the latest tragedies in carefully-recorded, compelling sound bites, accompanied by graphic and disturbing images. The internet salivated over conspiracy theories and blamed the war on the machinations of the Illuminati.

While the fashion industry adapted as it’d always done,  _Runway_ closed its doors. Women may have wanted the latest ‘siren suit’ but fashion magazines were considered frivolous and a waste of resources.

Many expected her to be disgruntled by the decision, but Miranda couldn’t have agreed more. The dangers of war were drilled into her at an early age and she’d never forgotten the stories she’d heard as a child. Sometimes world history tore apart families and left scars that took generations to fade.

As days flowed into weeks, she lived in fear that those in charge at home and abroad would lose all common sense and unleash weapons that would end the world as she knew it.  A flawed and unjust world, but one where there was friendship, family and the flimsy hope that one day Andréa would be hers.

It was this hope that sustained her and yet she resisted the urge to call Andréa. She’d already been rejected once, deserted years ago in Paris with barely a backward glance. She refused to risk the emotional upheaval that another rejection would undoubtedly wreak. 

Months passed, the War raged on, and she became even more adept at self-denial. Routine, she discovered, was the key. Her days were spent networking with the country’s elite to ensure that those affected most by the War - maimed soldiers, service families and refugees - were not overlooked.  Instead of salacious headlines, the media lauded her for her wartime contributions. As always, she ignored the attention and concentrated on her work and her daughters.

The time she spent with her girls was the only source of joy in her life. She tried her best to create a normal life for Cassidy and Caroline, though they all knew that there was nothing normal about their existence. Their schooling was disrupted, visits with friends were restricted and contact with their father was more sporadic than ever.  
  
Six months after insanity claimed the world, she received an unexpected call.

“Miranda?”  

“Andréa.”  The one word she’d been longing to say sounded foreign to her own ears.

“I can’t believe you remember me.”

“It’s hard to forget the only assistant to abandon me in Paris,” she said in a casual tone.

“Remembered for all the wrong reasons, then.”

Miranda ran her fingers through her hair, a nervous gesture she’d developed in recent times. One she only displayed when alone and most often before she was about to do or say something risky.

“Oh, I wouldn’t say that. I seem to recall a rather fetching pair of Chanel boots.”

The silence that followed her declaration filled Miranda with doubt. The sound of Andréa clearing her throat confirmed her suspicions. She was convinced nothing positive would come from their exchange.

“Fetching? Is that the best you can do, Priestly?”

Miranda laughed, caught off guard by both the response and the absurdity of the moment. With the world in chaos, she was flirting with her ex-assistant. It was outrageous and yet the most life-affirming moment she’d had in months.

She discarded the burden of pride and asked in desperation, “Can I see you?”  

A sigh greeted her and she mentally cursed herself. Of course Andréa had no desire to see her again. Now she really was a silly, old fool pining after a beautiful, young woman who would never be hers.

“I can’t, Miranda. I really wish I could, but I’m leaving New York in an hour.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. You know it’s not safe to travel.”

“Yeah, I know. I’m being deployed.”

“What do you mean, deployed?” She asked the question but she already knew the answer. The best, brightest and youngest were expected to carry out their patriotic duty and Andréa was not the first of her ex-employees to be caught up in the War.

“I was recruited from the _Mirror._ It’ll only be a six month deployment.”

Miranda shook her head.  All these years later and the government was still telling the same damn lies.

“You can’t really believe that Andréa.”

“No. But I live on hope.”

“Promise me you’ll stay safe,” she demanded, knowing that of all the tasks she’d set over the years, this one was the most impossible to achieve.

“I’ll do my best.”

As promises went they both knew it was heartfelt but essentially meaningless. Andréa‘s life, like so many others, was at the mercy of forces beyond her control.

 ******

It was a month before they spoke again. A month where she worried as each day passed without word from Andréa. Miranda knew she’d be on edge until her return. 

“Hi, Miranda.”

“Andréa,” she murmured, the relief in her voice barely concealed. 

“I can’t tell you where I am.”

“I know,” she said, her voice quiet even as her mind feverishly pictured all the places Andréa might be. Desert, jungle, mountaintops and oceans. None of them were sanctuaries of peace.

“You sound tired.”

“So do you,” Miranda deflected. While her nights were disturbed by visions of carnage and destruction, at least she was safe at home. She knew it was much worse for all those immersed in a waking nightmare.

“Turns out combat is almost as exhausting as being your assistant,” Andréa teased, much to Miranda’s astonishment.

“I can’t believe you’re joking at a time like this.”

”It keeps me sane,” came the serious reply. 

Moments of silence stretched into minutes as Miranda searched in vain for an appropriate response.

Voices rose in the background and snatches of conversation reached her in New York. None of it made sense except for ‘Sachs’ and ‘1600 hrs’.

When Andréa spoke again, her voice held no trace of humour.

“I have to go, Miranda.”

”Stay safe.” 

“I will.”

Neither of them acknowledged the potential lie underlying those two simple words.

******

The months crept by and Miranda continued going through the motions of her new life. She lobbied for funds, raised money for worthwhile charities and devoured every scrap of news she could find about the War. Everything she did was a conscious ploy to try and feel some modicum of control in an unpredictable world.

Her need for control was tested every time Andréa made contact. As much as their conversations brightened her days, afterwards she was overwhelmed by her impotence. All the money she had at her disposal was useless when she could not guarantee Andréa‘s safety. All her influence was moot when she was unable to convince Andréa that there was no shame in accepting a safer position.

When six months elapsed she received the inevitable news. There would be no reunion. A week’s leave abroad and then a further deployment to another undisclosed location. Though to anyone else Andréa probably sounded as positive as always, Miranda detected her weariness and despair.  

“There’s something I want to say,’ Miranda began, ignoring her instinct to be cautious. The time for that was long gone. “I love you.”

”You do?”

“Yes,” she said, with complete certainty.  

A brief pause followed before Andréa replied, “I’ve heard of this happening. It’s just the heightened atmosphere of wartime. People start to think-“

“Andréa,” she interrupted, “I think we can agree I’m not like other people.”

A chuckle greeted her and she allowed herself a slight smile.

“In the interest of clarity, I loved you before the War,” Miranda declared, running her fingers through her hair.

”Really? But we haven’t seen each other since Paris. That’s more than five years ago.”

”I’m well aware how long it’s been.”

”Oh.”

Miranda waited a few moments and swallowed hard when no further response seemed forthcoming. She clenched her fist as hope, her constant companion, leached from her body. Confessions were always a risk and as she’d learned in the past, risks didn't always pay off.  As she struggled to think of a way to end the call with dignity, a muffled sound broke the silence.

“Andréa,” she said, with all the love and concern she could muster, “are you crying?”

”Yes. Don’t worry, they’re happy tears.”

”Are you sure?”

”Definitely.”

Neither of them spoke until Andréa cleared her throat and said, “I wanted to wait until I got home, but now.... Anyway, it’s mutual, Miranda. I love you, too.”

Miranda closed her eyes and despite the solitude, discreetly wiped away her tears.  The habit of a lifetime remained even as everything else had changed.

”Stay safe, Andréa.”

”Always.”

They both failed to realise that such statements tempted fate in a chaotic world. 

 ******

The War continued and Miranda grew complacent. Routine, with its soothing sameness, lured her into the false belief that life was predictable. It was a belief that shattered when a call came from Andréa‘s mother. She dropped the phone and sobbed as one word lay waste to her sanity, “missing, missing, missing.”

In the weeks that followed, she used all the resources at her disposal in a desperate search for the truth. Snippets of information emerged, but the story told was one of misery. The official judgement was missing in action behind enemy lines. Unofficially, she was told there was little hope that Andréa remained alive.  

Though she was tempted to give up, her love for her daughters kept her afloat. Cassidy and Caroline were her flesh and blood and as the War deprived them of time with their father, more than ever she needed to stay strong. She provided them with structure and order and despite their complaints they thrived. Miranda comforted herself with the thought that while she may have failed others, at least she could keep her twins safe. 

Two months later, as she began to accept the dark reality, Miranda received a call that left her weak at the knees for all the right reasons.  Her military contact delivered the news. Andréa was alive. Injured and psychologically damaged, but alive. Miranda knew better than to question the miracle she’d been granted.

 ******

Eighteen months after she’d left New York, Andréa arrived at the townhouse. Her return to the city delayed by the intensive psychological counselling Miranda had arranged. When she opened the door, Miranda was greeted by a stranger. The short hair, toned arms and lean physique were the least of it. The biggest change was the haunted look in Andréa‘s eyes. Despite the efforts of talented professionals, it was obvious she no longer greeted the day with optimism.

“I’m back,” she said, the weariness evident in her tone and posture.

Miranda smiled but resisted the urge to pull Andréa into her arms. Though they’d communicated since her return, it’d been over six years since they’d actually seen each other. Physical affection was still unchartered territory and Miranda wanted to ensure Andréa was comfortable with such displays.

“Come in,” she replied, moving out of the doorway.

When they were both in the foyer, Andréa wrapped her arms around Miranda and whispered in her ear, ”I’m finally home.”

“Yes, you are,” she murmured, rubbing gentle circles on Andréa’s back.

Miranda made no effort to restrain her tears. In an ordinary world, such a display of emotion would have left her mortified. But with the War coming to an end, and Andréa at last in her arms, the world was hardly ordinary.  Perhaps it never would be again. 

**Author's Note:**

> This started as a rather short one shot but it really lacked substance. There’s no way that its extended length fully captures the experience of someone you love being at war, but hopefully it was worth reading.
> 
> If you made it this far, thanks for giving this story a chance.


End file.
